


The Adventure Of Judge Methusaleh Abrahams

by Cerdic519



Series: Further Adventures Of Mr. Sherlock Holmes [87]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Edwardian, Attempted Murder, Crimes & Criminals, F/M, Law Enforcement, London, M/M, Minor Character Death, Poisoning, Slow Burn, Tea, Untold Cases of Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-07-01 11:45:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15773460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: Methusaleh has reached a fine old age – but he would still like to avoid being shuffled off into the next world before his time. Sherlock works with a char-lady to ensure that justice, if not the law, is applied.





	The Adventure Of Judge Methusaleh Abrahams

**Author's Note:**

  * For [python37](https://archiveofourown.org/users/python37/gifts).



_Introduction by Sir Sherrinford Holmes, Baronet_

One of the things I know the late Doctor John Hamish Watson found sometimes difficult about his working with my brother Sherlock was the latter's application of justice first and the law second. I think back to the recent case of Mr. Raguel Truman, the murdering butler who killed five times and who the doctor had the opportunity to stop but did not. For someone as good and honest as Watson, such things were not always easy. In this case, which happened shortly before the one documented as _Lady Frances Carfax_ , there was once again a murderer who was let off – but even Watson had to concede that there was every reason to respect the judgement of Methusaleh.

۩۩۩۩E♔RI۩۩۩۩

_Narration by Doctor John Hamish Watson, M.D._

One of the many things I admired about my friend Mr. Sherlock Holmes was in the way he accepted or did not accept clients. No amount of money or social standing would tempt him to touch a case he considered unworthy of his talents, yet he had on more than one occasion exerted himself on behalf of associates of both of us. And Mrs. Mary Minton, the lady who requested our assistance in this matter, came from the humblest backgrounds indeed yet Holmes accepted her case, which turned into one of murder most foul.

“I know I shouldn't be troubling gentlemen such as your good selves”, she babbled, “but I have been so worried that....”

“Tea.”

She looked at Holmes in surprise, her flow of verbiage temporarily stemmed. 

“Sir?” she asked. 

“Madam, you are quite clearly a lady of sense.” He held up his hand when she looked poised to object, or worse, start off again. “Your clothes are of a basic standard, yet the repairs in them are quite precise, the stitching being of the highest quality. You can afford a pair of spectacles even though you are not wearing them today; the bridge-marks on your nose are quite distinctive, and that tells me you manage your money successfully as such visual aids are not cheap. I take it that an occurrence in your job as a cleaner has caused you some distress?”

She stared at him in amazement.

“Scuffed shoes”, I explained, gesturing to her footwear. “People who clean for a living make distinctive marks when they kneel down.”

“If the doctor is finished letting daylight in upon my magic”, Holmes smiled, “you will take your tea, sample Mrs. Hudson's most delicious coffee-cake, sit back and tell us precisely what brings you here today. Take your time, please.”

She did as he said, and sighed happily over the cake.

“I live in Lambeth, sir”, she said, “not far from the great Palace. My husband Bert works on the tube as a driver. Our boys have all moved out now which I suppose I should be grateful for, but I miss 'em. And to help make ends meet, I clean for two gentlemen. Young Mr. Riseley is a lawyer who has a small apartment in Waterloo, right by the big station, and I do mornings there, then afternoons I go to old Mr. Abrahams' place in the Temple. Beaconsfield Mews, a very nice area.”

“The Inns of the Court”, Holmes mused. “Is that Judge Methusaleh Abrahams who retired recently?”

“That's him, sir”, she said, clearly pleased that her employer was known to us. “A lovely old man, he lives alone now his wife has passed but his son visits from time to time. The place is too big for one person but he doesn't want to move, and nor should he!”

“His son wishes him to move?” Holmes asked.

“I think he suggested it once, but Mr. Abrahams said no”, she said. “The son, Mr. Jeroboam, he's.... well, he's not a _bad_ man but I always thinks he's eyeing the place up for when his father dies. But that's just my opinion.”

“And most probably an accurate one”, Holmes smiled. “I take it that something has befallen Judge Abrahams?”

She blushed.

“It really wasn't my place, sir”, she said apologetically. “But about three months ago I overheard Mr. Jeroboam talking to his father. Some dangerous criminal was about to be released and Mr. Jeroboam was anxious he might try something. 'Twas the judge that sent him down, see?”

“Indeed”, Holmes said. “But there was more, was there not?”

She nodded.

“Up till that day Mr. Abrahams was fine”, she said. “But after his son said about that man coming out, he seemed to just fall in on himself. Since then he's not been out to the garden at all, and it's a right mess if you don't mind me saying. I think he hardly ever uses the front rooms of the house, especially the main room which has a lovely big bay window that catches the sun. And he's got a gun, which I never saw until recently. I don't know if he's told his son about that but it scares me.”

“He has not changed towards you?” Holmes asked.

“Not as such, sir”, she said, “though he gets nervous very easily which he never did before. I was delayed half an hour last Wednesday, the day there was that accident on the bridge, and I thought he might not let me in!”

Holmes frowned.

“I do not suppose that you heard the name of the person who has caused all this unrest?” he asked. 

“No”, she said, “but I remember the date. It was the second of October, the day after my eldest son's birthday. He'd brought the grandchildren round for the evening, and young Billy was talking about this newfangled ship that sails underwater if you please!”

“That is excellent, Mrs. Minton!” Holmes smiled. “Well done for remembering such an important detail. I can ask my police friends who it was that was sentenced by your judge and was released around that date. _Most_ observant of you.”

The lady blushed at his praise.

“Thank you, sir”, she smiled. Holmes leant forward.

“I am going to investigate this for you, Mrs. Minton”, he said gravely. “I find it intriguing, and as matters are quiet in my life at the moment I am more than happy to do it merely to satisfy my own curiosity. But it is only fair to warn you that there may be an element of danger involved in this matter. If someone is watching the judge's house, then we must consider _your_ safety as much as his.”

“Mine, sir?” she said, wide-eyed. 

“Yours”, Holmes said firmly. “You may decide to not continue to work there, and in the circumstances that would probably be wise, but if you do stay on then you must ensure that you go there at the same time every day and leave at the same time. If someone is watching the house, they will avoid acting around those times.”

“I promise, sir”, she said. “The judge – do you think you can save him?”

“I will do what I can”, Holmes promised.

۩۩۩۩E♔RI۩۩۩۩

“You do not seem very optimistic”, I observed, once the cleaner had gone.

“I am not”, he said ruefully. “The potential killer has all the advantages in a situation like this. Our best hope is to salvage what we can. But perhaps we can hope for a Christmas miracle.”

I could not know at that time that just such a miracle was indeed to be bestowed – via my good self!

۩۩۩۩E♔RI۩۩۩۩

As I have said, in those days I attended only on some of my former clients from the Paddington surgery who wished to continue using my services, with which arrangement the new owners were more than happy to allow. Because I was effectively in their employ I sometimes helped out by attending certain social functions as their representative, much as I loathed such events. It was this altruism that was to yield an unexpected reward at Langstone House, the home of the truly frightful Mrs. Antonia de Courcey, one of the _grande dames_ of London society. She was so bad that Holmes had flatly refused to come with me, citing a desperate desire to be as far away from Lady Antonia as was physically possible for the preservation of his ear-drums. The coward!

One of the people whom I often met at these functions was Doctor Owen Pardew, a dry if not sarcastic Welshman who tended to some of the most important people in the city. We would often discuss our patients – not by name of course – and chuckle over the foolishness of humanity. 

“I had a most interesting case only last week”, he said. “Absolute confidence, of course.”

“Of course”, I promised. 

“In the Temple, a patient who is moderately wealthy has but one son to inherit”, he said. “However, he has recently had cause to doubt that the boy is acting in his best interests, pressuring him to sell the large house that he inhabits. It is in a most excellent location, and could be refurbished as a quality town-house for a considerable profit.”

“The patient has little connection with the outside world except for a neighbour who assists with his shopping and a cleaning-lady, who comes in and 'does' for him every afternoon. He is not one of my regulars; he used to have your surgery's man Claridge who shot off to the Lakes over that inheritance, lucky blighter. This patient asked him to recommend someone else, and as we had studied at the same medical school Claridge suggested me.”

A faint memory stirred. 

“What was wrong with him?” I asked.

“Nerves”, Doctor Pardew said shortly. “He seemed terrified of something, but he would not say what. And I have a feeling he is already taking something judging from his dilated pupils, though he did not mention anything about that. He has a moderate heart condition, so a severe enough shock could kill him.”

“Is this fear a recent thing?” I asked.

“He says that it started two months ago”, Doctor Pardew said. “Nice old buffer.”

I made a mental note to tell Holmes about this as soon as I got home.

۩۩۩۩E♔RI۩۩۩۩

Inspector Gregson came round just after eleven the following morning. I felt sorry for him that he had to work on a holiday, but Holmes had arranged with Mrs. Hudson to bake two large chocolate cakes, one for the station and one for him and his family, so perhaps there were compensations.

“No doubt as to who your man is”, he said, accepting a coffee as he sat down by the fire. “Mr. Hubert Morris, known as 'Bruiser' to his few remaining friends. Old Abrahams sent him down back at the start of 'Eighty-Two for his part in the Liss House Robbery. Two members of the family killed and he got twenty years.”

“A pity that they did not hang him”, I said grimly.

“Two of his colleagues went to the gallows”, the inspector said. “One of them killed Mr. George Penruth, and the other struck the fatal blow that finished off his wife. Morris shot her first, but his lawyer managed to convince the jury that she was still living when Bentworth struck her – the medical evidence seemed to back him up on that - so your man avoided the drop, more's the pity. A fourth member, Parkes, was jailed for seven years for aiding and abetting. He's kept his nose clean since getting out, which is a loaves and fishes miracle in my opinion.”

“How did you catch them?” Holmes asked.

“They had no kids of their own, but it was the robbers' bad luck that the Penruths were looking after their nephew Stephen”, he said. “Bright lad; he wrote down everything including descriptions, and once they had gone even fenced off where the footprints were. They gave him witness protection of course, and I suppose that he went abroad somewhere. The fewer people who know of such things the better.”

“And Mr. Morris?” Holmes asked. 

“He got a job down the docks, just a few miles from the judge's house”, the inspector said. “I have alerted the local station, and they said that they would increase patrols in the area, but we cannot watch the place round the clock. I am sending a man to speak with Morris' employers as well, just so he knows that we are keeping an eye on him.”

“That is good of you”, Holmes smiled. “Did our mutual friend say what was his impression of the man? I always value his judgement.”

“He said that he thinks he might stay out of trouble this time”, our visitor said. “Morris had a young kid before he went inside, and they got given to his brother to raise. Young fellow's a bank clerk now and wary about his reappeared father, rightly so. I suppose his dear old dad might keep his nose clean, though the general rule is once a crim, always a crim.”

“That”, Holmes said, “is sadly true.”

۩۩۩۩E♔RI۩۩۩۩

The next development in the case caught us unaware a few days later, when Gregson called round unannounced. His first words were shocking.

“I thought you two gentlemen might care to know that someone nearly died in Beaconsfield Mews last night.”

“Judge Abrahams?” Holmes asked. The inspector shook his head. 

“No, His neighbour Mr. Edward Smith.”

“How?” I asked.

“The doctor who examined him said he suspected poison, but he could not be sure until further tests have been done”, the inspector said. “It may have been a case of mistaken identity; the Smiths live at Maytree Cottage and Mr. Abrahams lives at Maytree House. Possibly the attacker got the wrong man.”

“With poison?” Holmes asked, dubiously. “That would be unlikely, unless....”

His voice trailed off, and he seemed to be thinking deeply. The two of us waited.

“Inspector”, Holmes said quietly, “is there a _Mrs._ Smith?”

“No, she died some years back”, Gregson said. “He's an invalid; his daughter looks after him now as she has a house over in Chesham Lane. Why?”

“Where is she now?” Holmes asked.

“She went with her father to hospital, but she has a job at a dress-shop near Bishopsgate”, he said. “I would guess that she is at work.”

“We need to see her”, Holmes said urgently. “Do you have the name of the place?”

۩۩۩۩E♔RI۩۩۩۩

The general manager of Minniver's was a Mr. Charles Woofferton, an unfortunate name as his facial features reminded me immediately of a large dog. He was most definitely not pleased to see us.

“This is a busy department store, gentlemen”, he said testily. “I cannot spare one of our girls for half an hour of idle chatter.”

I expected Holmes to protest but to my surprise he stood up.

“That is quite understandable”, he said. “I promise that we will trouble you no further. I merely wished to spare you the embarrassment of a visit from the local constabulary. Maybe several visits.”

“What do you mean?” he demanded. “What has that dratted girl gone and done?”

Holmes fixed him with an icy glare. The man edged backwards. I would have done the same facing that look.

“'That dratted girl' as you call her has done nothing”, he said. “She may however be the possessor of important information pertinent to a current investigation with which I am involved. But I understand your preference for using only the _official_ channels. And your customers will doubtless be reassured when four or five policemen descend to take her to the nearest station for several hours of questioning. And then return her here, most likely during the evening rush given their propensity not to consider such niceties. The London 'bobby' can be a blunt instrument, and I personally would not want a whole number of them in a shop of mine gawking at the customers, making them all wonder just who....”

He was scurrying for the door.

“I will send her in at once!” he squeaked, and was gone.

I chuckled.

۩۩۩۩E♔RI۩۩۩۩

Miss Paula Smith would, I thought to myself, make a worryingly good murderess. She was cool, calm and collected, and seemed totally unperturbed by our visit.

“Yes, I did wonder if the events next door had something to do with poor father”, she said. “Old Mr. Abrahams is a most pleasant gentleman, and a good neighbour. I had taken to doing some shopping for him of late as his son's visits were somewhat infrequent.”

“I would greatly value your opinion as to young Mr. Abrahams”, Holmes said. “I have never met the gentleman myself.”

She smiled.

“I would not call him young”, she said, curling her lip slightly. “And it would be stretching matters to call him a gentleman.” She laid her well-kept hands on the table, and I could see the glint of a thin gold ring. “I am engaged to be married to a Mr. Albert Flint who works at the bakery down the road, but despite knowing that fact Mr. Abrahams made certain suggestions that were most improper. He seemed to think that because he was a lawyer and my fiancé was only a baker, that that made his behaviour in some way acceptable.”

“How did you react to that?” I asked. She looked hard at me.

“He was unwise enough to do it whilst I was holding a knitting needle”, she said pointedly. “He did _not_ repeat the error!”

I winced.

“Did you do all of Mr. Abrahams' shopping?” Holmes asked.

“Everything except the tea”, she said. “He had a passion for the sort of rare brands that you cannot get in the shops, so his son would arrange for them to be shipped in once every two months.”

“The son did not bring them himself?” Holmes asked.

“Actually he did. I believe he got them from a warehouse in the docks, about a mile away. I myself thought that they smelt somewhat, but I think from something the judge once said that his late wife had liked them so possibly it was a way of remembering her.”

“Tell me about your father's poisoning”, Holmes said.

“It was all very strange”, she said. “This morning, I brought some shopping for Mr. Abrahams as usual. After I checked on my father, I went and knocked on the connecting door. As I am sure you are aware sirs, Mr. Abrahams was increasingly fretful as of late so we had arranged a signal – three knocks, a pause and then a fourth - that it was me with his shopping. He let me through, I placed his items in his cupboards, then took my father's few things back through the door. I recall that he locked it behind me as usual.”

“Why did you not unpack your father's items first?” Holmes asked.

“I was running late”, she said, “and I did not want to worry Mr. Abrahams any more than was necessary. He preferred me to call at the same time each day when I brought him his things. I spoke to his cleaner once and she said that he nearly did not let her in the one time that she was late. A very nice lady.”

“That was considerate of you”, Holmes said. “What happened next?”

“I came back and unpacked my father's things”, she said. “I was as I said in a hurry; I would normally have cooked my father some lunch, but we are having a stock-take soon and I had said that I would come in early to help, so I made him some sandwiches and promised a cooked meal this evening. Mr. Woofferton can be.... demanding.”

“We noticed!” I muttered. She smiled at me.

“As it turned out it was Providence that I was so rushed, because five minutes after leaving I realized that I had left my pills at the house.”

“Your pills?” I asked. “You are on medication?”

“My doctor is treating me for a minor heart irregularity”, she said. “I ran back to the house and arrived to find my father on the floor, thrashing and calling for help. It was my even greater luck that Doctor Bazenger, who lives the other side of Mr. Abrahams, was home at the time. He treated him whilst I summoned an ambulance. The doctors say that he should recover, but only because he was found so soon.”

Holmes nodded.

“He had not opened your pills?” he asked. She shook her head.

“I always get the chemist to screw the lid on extra-tight”, she said. “At my own house my neighbour's daughter sometimes comes in if her mother is late home from work, and I do not want to risk her getting hold of them; you know what children are like. I only need one a day, and I can use the nutcrackers to open and close them. And my neighbour is a young fellow who works on the railways; he would open them for me if I needed him to.”

She looked at Holmes thoughtfully.

“This has something to do with Mr. Abrahams' recent fearfulness”, she said astutely. “What is going on?”

“I very much fear the answer is 'attempted murder'”, Holmes said grimly. “And that we may already be too late to prevent it.”

۩۩۩۩E♔RI۩۩۩۩

We were in a cab that was heading the mercifully short distance from Miss Smith's shop to Beaconsfield Mews. I say mercifully because Holmes had instructed the driver to go flat out, and the cab was rocking so violently that I was starting to feel nauseous. 

“What did you mean, too late?” I asked, grabbing the strap as I was hurled into Holmes round a particularly sharp turn. He, typically, seemed able to ignore the laws of momentum that were bouncing me around the cab like a rubber ball. “Mr. Smith survived.”

“I fully expect a second murder to be attempted before the day is out”, Holmes said grimly. “If it has not been already.”

“What?” I gasped. “Oof!”

We had reached our destination, as was evident by the sudden stop that hurled me against the small door at the front of the cab. Holmes threw a handful of change at the cabbie and shot up the path, leaving me trailing in his wake. He banged on the front door, I held my breath.....

The door was opened by Mr. Methusaleh Abrahams, whom I recognized from the picture of him that I had seen in the _“Times”_. My first thought was that he had been well-named; that long beard did make him look like his Biblican namesake. He looked at us both and clearly knew who we were.

“Are we too late?” Holmes asked to my surprise. The judge shook his head.

“You are too early”, he said. “It would be better if you came back later.”

“I am afraid that we cannot do that”, Holmes said. “Justice must be seen to be done. You of all people should know that, your honour.”

For a moment the stand-off continued, but then the old man sighed and stood back. Holmes hurried past him into the hallway, hesitated only briefly, then turned sharply and went through into the front room. I followed.

There was a body on the hearth-rug, a middle-aged man gasping for breath. He was clearly dying. I moved past Holmes to try to at least do something, only for him to restrain me.

“If you save that man's life Watson”, he said, “it will be so that he can hang.”

I stared at him in confusion.

“What?” I asked. 

“That is Mr. Jeroboam Abrahams, son of the master of this house”, Holmes said, glancing at the elderly judge. “He is charged with attempted patricide. Only a chance sequence of events exposed his evil intentions, and he has now met the same end that he intended for the man who gave him life.”

The prone man's movements were growing weaker. There was clearly nothing that could be done for him.

“Patricide?” I asked. 

Holmes nodded and took a seat. The judge stood before him, close to his dying son. I was reminded of a courtroom, except that this time the judge was not in control.

“Mr. Jeroboam Abrahams knows that a convicted felon, whom his father put away some years back, is due out of jail”, he began in a soft voice. “He presses one more time to try to persuade his father to sell the house, but when he is refused he puts his plan into action.”

“He is fortunate that, although he has deemed general shopping to be beneath him, he is still responsible for arranging the rare teas that his father likes. He doses each with a drug designed to cause paranoia, and makes sure his father knows that 'Bruiser' Morris is about to become a free man. The slow dosage will not kill his father but it may succeed in driving him to sell up, and if it does not then he can always add an extra dose one day. People will believe that the judge was driven to his death by fear.”

“Except that this morning disaster strikes, courtesy of his own laziness. A neighbour's kind daughter brings in Mr. Abrahams' shopping and inadvertently takes a package of the tea intended for him back into her own father's house. Presumably he must be more susceptible to the poison, but thanks to the blessed Providence he is spared. Naturally when young Mr. Abrahams learns of this he realizes the risk of imminent exposure. He must strike fast, so he can remove the evidence of his crime once his father is dispatched.”

“He comes to the house with the fatal dose, determined to get his father to drink it. He offers to make the tea knowing that the small dose in his own cup will not do him any damage. It is worth the money that he is playing for. Everything marches well, he believes.”

“But it is one of the truest tenets of crime that one should never underestimate one's victim.” Holmes turned to the judge. “You guessed, when you heard of your neighbour's attack, exactly what was afoot, and therefore you knew that your son was behind it. I do not know what ruse you used, but you distracted your son in some way so that you could switch your cups. The result, we see before us.”

The judge bowed his head. 

“Judge, jury, executioner”, he said softly. “If only the fool boy had waited. I am surely not long for this world, but Jerry wanted everything now. He will want no more.”

I was shocked. Holmes rose to his feet.

“Mr. Methusaleh Abrahams”, he said heavily, “you have been found guilty of filicide, the killing of you own son. However the fact that you acted in self-defence must be weighed in the balance. Your sentence is to live out your life in that knowledge, and to do what good you can with an estate that now has no-one left to inherit. May the Good Lord have mercy upon your soul.”

The judge nodded. Holmes helped me to my feet and we left. The man on the hearth had stopped moving.

۩۩۩۩E♔RI۩۩۩۩

The reader will by now understand why this case was not published in my original canon. Apparently the Good Lord was in no hurry for the judge's company as he lived on for a further four years. When he died most of his estate went to charity, but there were sizeable bequests to both Miss Smith (by then Mrs. Flint, with a son and daughter) and, much to her surprise, Mrs. Minton.

۩۩۩۩E♔RI۩۩۩۩


End file.
